A Blue Scroll
by Kariko Emma
Summary: Youngish Yuugao with a few questions about life.


_A Blue Scroll_

**A/N:** Caliko's subconscious mindfunk. (Bowing apologetically.)  
**Disclaimer:** Don't own Naruto. Thanks ff dot net.  
**Genre:** General

* * *

.

I'm seventeen and I'm crazy. My uncle says the two always go together. When people ask your age, he said, always say seventeen and insane.

-Ray Bradbury

.

.

.

Something came over her shoulders.

A cold touch of death, an icy shawl comprised of small crystals—a slow moving glacier with snowflakes seen somewhere in snow country. The weight pressed a burden on her back and roses blooming on her cheeks. Beside her on the bed, Hayate asked after the chill, touching her arm below the sleeve. The man could feel mountains.

Yuugao smiled quickly. It was nothing. Except…she had to check on something. Yes, something. Wouldn't take a moment.

The man said nothing, watching her skin pale to a shade nearer his own. Seconds later, as she grew still standing outside the doorway, he heard her say it, "Senpai…" Her footsteps followed the red.

Hayate waited a few minutes. When she returned, she brought with her the same paleness, the same snow on her breath as she faked composure. The woman sat with him again and Hayate cleared his throat enough to tell her to go home.

No. (How silly.) She couldn't do that.

…Smile.

Hayate shook his head. The smile was a painful one to watch. Thankfully it faded just as soon. Hayate studied her profile. The young woman's eyes were absorbing all the shadows in the room. The small pink buds on her cheeks were closing up. Cough. "Yuugao…for his sake and mine, get some rest—get some food. You can't stay here…Yuugao…you're shaking."

She looked down at her hands. Oh. So she was. Clasping the numb icicles she trembled, holding in all her emotion. It really was terrible. It really was grim. It really was all—Her reverie was broken again—"Yuugao, you can fight again—some other day. Go home now. It's okay."

She nodded slightly, and fidgeted, fighting her frozen stance and clasped hands. She was unable to pull them apart now. Yuugao looked at her friendly companion…and she smiled. The emotion in her eyes glistened all her gratitude and thanks—she just couldn't bring herself to say it. She couldn't. She bowed her head and touched his sleeve. The woman stood, emboldened by her movements. She turned. And walking through the cold white, turned left, where the running stream paused under the ice and snow.

She could hear them speaking.

This is wrong.

That is low.

Can't stop the bleeding.

Get the blue scroll. And the seals. It's—

_The blue scroll._

Yuugao's fingers could not absorb her tears.

Senpai. Her lips moved.

Finally she moved her back from the wall and turned from the face of the specialist team coming in.

She tried to forget the fact she hadn't been assigned to the copy nin's unit the other day.

And she tried to ignore the fact he probably did that on purpose.

.

.

.

She was in his house. Not because she stayed there, but because it always smelled of citrus. The vials and pills and herbal remedies providing the aroma were always left in a mess, so cleaning it gave her something to do and a small gain of warmth in her slim frame. Before she collapsed on the large wooden floor where all his scabbards congregated, she brought in some lavender from the garden and tied them in two small clusters—hanging one in the corner and the other she pressed her face in, sitting on the hard, gleaming surface. Blue-violet clusters collided with blue tears and the smell was like the sun. Bright and unreachable.

When she heard the door slide open from the outside she was already half-standing and wide-eyed…but it was only Genma. Grin. Hello.

The young woman returned to her meditative position. Hello. She murmured.

Hayate at home?

No.

Oh. What's up?

Yuugao shook her head absently.

…You look like Hell. Anything happen today?

Lavender was still propped up in her hands loosely.

Genma finally kicked off his shoes, came in, and asked her. "Had dinner yet?"

The girl shook her head.

Genma sat down next to her. "Hayate in the hospital again?"

She nodded.

"…Oh," Genma sounded. "I'm sorry. So…wanna go see him? Oh—hey, guess what? I was going to tell this to him, but I guess you can act surprised. I gotta girlfriend!"

Yuugao's eyes never turned.

"She's from Iwa," Genma grinned, poking the girl on her arm playfully. "She's gotta nice little cave on the border. Real cozy. Real warm…" Genma readjusted his bandana and slid the senbon over to the other side of his mouth, pointing it at her. He chuckled once and touched her shoulder. But the woman became angry. "Stop it Genma," the woman stood, dropping the lavender in a mess on the floor. But Genma wasn't finished preening himself or his surroundings. He picked up a few of the flowers and straightened his clothes neatly as he stood. He started to ask her when her head turned away. Too many tears. "Just stop it. I'm not in the mood today."

She disappeared.

Genma looked around.

His calm brown eyes looked down at the few stalks in his hand.

He took them with him, to the hospital.

.

.

.

In her apartment now, she was freezing under her shinobi's blue garb.

Her face was pressed against the sheets; her thoughts grasping for any twig of thought without death. But the very name made her go hungry. The very name told her not to bother with a bath. Not to bother with the curtains. With laundry. With a book. With a name.

The clock read eleven to midnight with an indigo sky and stars, burning in a vast cold expanse…The woman made a noise.

It just wouldn't leave her alone.

The blue lake of her fabric.

The blue border around a strip of white paper.

The red.

The sick.

The red.

The sick.

The red.

The—

She became aware.

She blinked with alacrity for the first time since the late afternoon.

A swift knock.

_Was she needed?_

She answered.

He was standing there.

…Smile.

Soft, sweet smile.

He embraced her before closing the door. And then he offered her the hidden item behind his back and coughed under the smile.

…The sick.

"Hayate…" her voice murmured, perusing the small blooms with her fingers, smelling the fragrance, "Are you feeling better?"

Claiming a seat on her bed he smiled as Yuugao slowly copied his movements. "I'm fine," he nodded. He pointed at the flowers in her hand. "Genma thought you might like those."

Yes. She did. "They came from your home," she forfeited with a small lift in her voice.

"Oh well that's nice. Picking my flowers for my favorite girl."

"But Genma's got a girlfriend now," said Yuugao, still staring at the blooms.

"He won't keep her for long. He doesn't go to Iwa that often."

A tear escaped her eye.

She allowed the lavender to bow parallel to her knees. Sick of their fragrance. Tired of the beauty. Focusing on her desk all a jumble she remembered her duties. She had to report in tomorrow. She had to be ready for—

"He's stable."

Hayate had to repeat it again.

When he did, he accepted her frame falling past his shoulder and on his chest. Softly crying, shaking, she pressed it to him, "…Why does it have to be this way sometimes?" And again, her small voice shaking. "Why were we born this way? Why does he take on too much? Why do you take on so much? And why does Genma have to court every girl he sees…?"

Her figure was quite cold; her eyes had absorbed all possible shadow lurking in the corners and cobwebs. The weight of her frame pressed everywhere but on his lungs as he searched for an answer. Hayate touched her violet locks and smiled. Her young eyes, yellow-rimmed, reminded him of cat's eyes. Yuugao could see well in the dark, but she was seeing too much of it now. The girl was all stealth as a shinobi. All trouble as a young woman.

Hayate was a young man.

Except he kept his eyes on the lighter surfaces of her little room. The quirks of her mess made him smile. It was a similar scene at his home, except his was much, much worse. Only Yuugao came over and cleaned it for him. And if it wasn't for her, he might be buried in it. Reversely, Hayate liked to clean for her, from time to time. He didn't do as neat a job, but she appreciated it all the same.

There was a light shadow moving now on a bloom, on the floor. Such a delicate blue-violet color. Such a pretty little mess.

"Sometimes we are unable to choose," he said. Cough. Smile. "Sometimes…it just is what it is. There's nothing we can do. I like you as you are Yuugao. I wouldn't have wanted you born any other way. I certainly am glad you weren't born a man."

"Now you sound like Genma."

Cough.

Smile.

"As for Kakashi-san…he takes on so much because he's looking for so many answers. Like you. I take on so much because…well…let's face it. You and Genma keep me on my toes," Grin. "And Genma…Genma courts every girl he sees because…he can't court you."

The girl straightened. A bit.

Removing the majority of her weight her head was on Hayate's shoulder now as she tumbled the idea around in her head. Finally she listened to the sounds of Hayate's shallow breathing instead. "…Of course," he cleared his throat, startling her head and shoulders off, "I've never wanted you to feel like you were…"

"No. I know," she said, frowning. "…I know. But…"

Silence.

She was aware of the chill now more than ever, looking over her carpet. Yuugao smiled. "…Are we that bad?"

Bad? Us? Grin.

"As adults," she said. "Is that what happens when we grow up? All apologies…and empty conversation…?"

"Yuugao, I believe we never grow up. We may mature, but I have never, _ever_ grown up." Wink. Smile. Clear throat. Grin.

Something was dropping off her shoulders. The crystals knitted in the shawl were beginning to fall away like the lavender on the floor. Yuugao reached down and gathered all of the stems. Feeling a pulse in her fingers, she smiled a little. Can I walk you home?

No, but thank you.

Her emotion welled over one more time. "Hayate…you're so strong."

He blushed a little.

"Thank you. So much." Yuugao cried a bit on his sleeve. "How did you get to be so wise?"

"Well…I admit…I am a little older than _you_."

She grinned.

Laughing.

Such a warm exercise.

The woman hugged him, and watched him leave the complex through her window. Closing the pane, the blue fabric draped on her reflected a desk and paper, reports and a cup of pens. Picking up a small scrap and a pen, she wrote a note. Yuugao did not sign it. She went to the hospital, and left it in a room.

.

.

.

A few days later, he was conscious enough to notice the dried sprig. Another day passed he was strong enough to read the small piece of paper rolled tightly around the stem. In blue letters, like a fortune of luck:

_If you're looking for answers, or if you're just feeling blue…remember never to grow up._

.

.

.

-Kariko Emma, _Caliko_


End file.
